


somewhere in South Carolina:

by apocellipses



Series: Snippets 2019 [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Cryptids, Idiots, M/M, Road Trips, Slow Burn, stupid boys doing stupid things in motor vehicles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 05:44:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17319098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apocellipses/pseuds/apocellipses
Summary: since i haven't been able to work on larger WIPs, i've been doin' little snippets instead :^)





	somewhere in South Carolina:

**Author's Note:**

> since i haven't been able to work on larger WIPs, i've been doin' little snippets instead :^)

“Aw, Bry,” says Beck, that wet-cement grin slapped across his face. “We don’t have to worry about the moon for three weeks now. Why don’t you pick the music?”

Bryce studies him, his sleepy eyes, his gear shift hand, his teeth and teeth and teeth. “Beck,” and his voice catches on his Velcro tongue, “Beck, it’s nine in the morning. You haven’t had anything to drink, right?”

It’s a plea more than a question, isn’t it? Because he already knows the answer.

“Before I drive? Come on, Bry.” His gaze flits. “Put on your bad oldies.”

“You have to pull over, Beck.” The knot in Bryce’s back pinches, twists, and he tries in vain not to feel it. “I can drive.”

Beck’s grin sets like plaster. “I’ve got it.”

“Beck—“

“I’ve _got it_.”

And that would normally be the end of it. But Bryce thinks about the emergency room and the red handprint branded into his chest and he doesn’t quiet down like normal and he doesn’t putter out like a sad clock running on old batteries.

“Pull over, Beck.”

Beck’s hand freezes halfway to the radio dial. “What?”

“We’re on the highway. You’re drunk. Pull over and let me drive.”

“Alright, I had one mimosa at the breakfast bar, but I’m not—come on, Bryce, we just got on the road!”

“Are we in a hurry?”

They both know that the answer is yes. That Beck’s aim is to get as far away as fast as possible.

Then he should have kept his promise, shouldn’t he?

Beck’s jaw muscles are tense and round and knotted, and he grips at the wheel. Bryce’s interrupted him before he could choose a radio station, stranding them in silence.

Bryce says it again. “Pull over, Beck.”

It’s the coaxing that ticks Beck off enough to floor the gas pedal and jump ahead on the empty road. The car’s engine yells where Beck’s lips are sealed.

Bryce tries again. “Please, Beck.”

“Fuck you.”

The words hit him square in the chest and smolder there.

Okay. So they’re barrelling down the road going 90 in a 55. So Beck had some drinks after he promised he wouldn’t. So he’s stubborn, so he’s defensive, so he doesn’t want Bryce driving his car out here in the middle of nowhere. But what the hell did Bryce ever do to deserve those wrecking ball words?

“No,” he snarls, “fuck you. Pull over before you _get us killed _.”__

__And maybe it’s the retort, but it’s most likely the way Bryce is baring his teeth, that has Beck pulling onto the shoulder of the road and throwing the car into neutral._ _

__“Fine,” he mutters._ _

__Bryce runs his tongue over his eyeteeth and is grateful to find them human-sized._ _


End file.
